


Now, I Know The Truth

by thefalloftheauthor (egosoffire)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9347150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egosoffire/pseuds/thefalloftheauthor
Summary: Set after TLD. Greg is shaken up by his interview with Culverton Smith.





	

3:32am.

Greg looked over at the alarm clock beside his bed and groaned, pulling the pilow from his left and holding it to his face. He growled into the fabric, sighing heavily. 

He couldn't sleep. He was exhausted, bloody exhausted, but his mind had not been able to quiet since Culverton Smith had been arrested and charged with a multitude of murders - a killing spree that went back years. 

It was idiotic. He had dealt with the lowest of the lowe. He had been in criminal justice for half of his life. He knew what men like Smith were like, and he had heard from sociopaths several times before their meeting. Yet, somehow, Smith managed to shake him to the very core. 

He described his victims with such delight. It was raw, primal delight at the power that came with taking a life. The man displayed a base, sexual thrill at what he could do. There was no regret in it, just the sick, twisted euphoria. 

Greg felt like he couldn't breathe when the words came out of the man's slimy throat and the delight lit up his eyes.

Then, he started to go on about his near-murder of Sherlock Holmes.

"The fear in his eyes was glorious," Smith lamented, a fond expression on his face. "He feared what was right in front of him, even though he had invited it in. I'll hear his words in my dreams tonight - 'I don't want to die.' God, it was something." 

Now, Greg was starting to get angry with himself.

"For Christ's sake," he groaned. "I've been in this line of work since I was twenty-five. I Know what this kind is like. I've studied enough criminal psychology to write a bloody book! This shouldn't unnerve me so much."

Yet, it did. 

It only took three days for Sherlock to figure it out. He had been asked, by John, to come to Baker Street to stay with Sherlock for a little while. The moment that Sherlock opened the door andl et him in, he looked at Greg and said simply, "Tell me what's bothering you."

"You nearly died, and you have the actual audacity to ask me what's wrong?" Greg asked, entering the flat and heading to the living room. He sat in John's chair. Sherlock immediately took his own. "Seriously?"

"I didn't realize it would affect you in such a way..."

Greg, in that moment, took in Sherlock's face. He looked ghastly, really. Molly had assured Greg that he was recovering well, but he had put himself through hell. 

"I can't get my conversation with Smith out of my head," Greg admitted, averting his eyes. "His utter glee at your...your terror..." 

Once Greg gathered the courage to look Sherlock in the eyes, he could see something small, something soft in him. "Oh Greg," he murmured, shaking his head. "I didn't realize that'd be difficult for you to hear..." 

"You just used my first name," Greg said with a nervous laugh. "I think you're slipping Sherlock..." 

Sherlock stood up, and Greg felt the need to stand to. When he did, the detective bit his bottom lip, stepped forward and hugged him. The gesture surprised Greg so much that his first instinct was to pull back. Then he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Sherlock tightly. He was just so thankful that Sherlock was there, and alive and in his arms.

"You haven't been sleeping," Sherlock said then, pulling away from the hug, but keeping both of his hands on Greg's arms. "Since you interviewed him, I imagine. How many days ago?"

"Three." 

"Go up to my room. The bed is made. Get a little sleep. A nap, even. We can talk when you wake up." 

"Sherlock, I'm supposed to be watching you for signs of withdrawal. Taking care of you..." 

"Your presence alone is enough," Sherlock assured, nudging him to turn around. Sherlock was surprisingly strong. "Go, sleep. Rest assured that I am fine. I survived. That man did not break me, he did not kill me, and I am going to be fine." 

"Sherlock..."

"Now, George." 

"You can't do that anymore, you know?" Greg said, reluctantly gravitating towards the bedroom. "Now, I know the truth."


End file.
